


Way Up

by SGSKHKT



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25362733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGSKHKT/pseuds/SGSKHKT
Summary: What happens after, up above?
Relationships: Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Way Up

He turns.

Well.

Shit.

Hermes stands by his side silently as he falls to the floor, eyes glassy and reaching out for her.

But she wasn't there anymore.

She'd gone back down.

"Aight," he says softly, trying to ignore the wilted carnation in the poet's hand.

"It's almost time for spring," he continues.

The poet says nothing.

The he stands up, the carnation falling from his hand, and grips the strap of his lyre so hard Hermes thought the leather might break.

Then he turns.

Away, this time.

And Hermes follows him.

Persephone's back up top not long after, a few days maybe.

The bar is buzzing with joy, excitement and alcohol.

But not music.

The band had scattered within the crowd and the poet sat at a table in the corner, a glass of alcohol in his hands.

He didn't drink.

Hermes wondered if he even ate at all that day.

"Poet," he called.

The poet looked up sightly.

He didn't say anything.

Not a curious hum, not an innocent "Yes?".

Nothing.

"You gonna drink that?" Hermes asks.

The poet looks down.

He shrugs.

"Then you gonna play us a song?"

This time the poet stiffens.

"No."

It's a soft, strained sound, barely audible in the cacophony of the bar, but it shocks Hermes to the core nonetheless.

"Why not?" he asks, softer this time, like he would when the poet was younger.

"I can't find the tune," the poet whispers.

Hermes freezes.

"I can't find the rhythm."

The poet meets Hermes' eyes.

His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, still.

He hasn't drank a single drop.

"Poet," he says, as soft as he did when the muse they both knew left, maybe softer.

"Teach me," the poet says instead, in his voice a new found determination.

But it sounds wrong, warped.

It reminds Hermes of when the poet had asked him to teach him the lyre.

But this was different.

"Teach you what?"

"Your other domain."

Hermes frowned.

"Why? I'm not having you build another Hadestown up here."

"I let her starve, I made her sell her soul. I'm not letting anyone else do the same."

"Poet."

"Hermes."

Hermes.

Not Mr Hermes.

Just Hermes.

What did Hadestown do to his poet?

He takes a breath.

"No."

The poet looks back down.

Hermes looks back at Persephone and the other patrons.

They don't speak.

Spring had come again his ass.

It's mid-spring.

The poet still doesn't sing.

His lyre is in a corner of the bar, collecting dust.

The poet doesn't eat.

Hermes and Persephone have to force food into him so that he won't be on the next train down.

He asks Persephone how the girl is.

The poet's muse, his songbird.

"Better than he is," she says.

She says they've got better rights in Hadestown now. 

Says the songbird is leading the change, got herself a pretty desk job as the king's assistant.

An advisor to the chromium throne.

Odd, that.

She was able to live, he was only able to survive.

Styx knew his sister Athena would appreciate the dramatic irony of the situation.

Apollo visits sometime during summer.

The poet's tragic tale having made its way across the continent by now.

Hermes was quick to chase him away.

"Can't I see my own son now, brother?" he asks.

Hermes gives a fake laugh.

Not that Apollo would know, he barely gave genuine laughter around any of his family.

Always hadn't, never would.

"Hades is more of his father than you," he laughs.

Apollo frowns.

"Look," he continues, "you stopped bein' his father the second you dumped him on my doorstep to raise."

"I still taught him. He knows how to play the lyre."

"Brother, I taught him that. Don't you remember that I invented the thing?"

Apollo stares at him a second more before leaving.

Hermes has the urge to send his own brother to Hadestown.

Hermes goes down to Hadestown late summer.

A routine delivery.

He sees the songbird.

"How is he?" she asks, her dark eyes wide and hopeful.

They remind her of his, before she left.

"Could be better," he says, suppressing the small grudge he had against her.

He tries not to think of the poet, bone-thin, barely alive.

The songbird frowns.

Then she hums a quiet tune.

Hermes feels himself relaxing.

A red carnation blooms in her hand.

"Give this to him," she says, pressing it into his hand.

"Tell him I forgive him. Tell him to keep singing."

He does.

By the time early autumn rolls around the poet is not singing.

But he is humming.

And he is playing his lyre.

The nymphs seem to love it.

And Hermes has seen the Fates gawk occasionally.

A handsome lad named Calais looked like he wanted to ask the poet home before being dragged away by his shipmates, who while entranced by the song were still conscious enough to know they had to resume their journey.

The poet's back, almost.

He does not sing the song of his love.

Persephone goes back down.

The poet stops singing again.

He knows better than to sing in the harsh winter again.

He gathers food and firewood instead.

He gets enough for two.

It's harder to force food into the poet without Persephone around but Hermes manages.

He does not deliver the songbird's next carnation.

He knows the poet will try to brave the storm for more resources if he does.

The next mid-autumn, Persephone goes back down.

The train rolls back up to the station not long after.

Hermes does not have any passengers for it.

Curious, he meets the train at the station.

He notices a familiar figure.

"Come on now dear," he smiles, a real smile.

"He's inside the bar."

She walks into the bar.

The poet turns.

His eyes go wide with hope and disbelief.

"...How?"

She smiles and stretches out her arms, a silent request for a hug.

"I missed ya."

"Orpheus," she sings.

"Eurydice!" he cries, barrelling into her arms.

They stand there for a while, soaking in each other's embrace.

"How?" he asks again, voice fragile.

"I renegotiated my contract," she whispers, 'Half a year up top."

"Why?"

She frowns.

"Why not?"

Orpheus' eyes fill with tears.

"I failed you. I turned."

"I forgave you."

"You shouldn't have."

Eurydice says nothing.

Instead, she wraps her arms around her lover's neck.

And she sings.

"La la la la la la la."

The bar felt warmer.

"La la la la la la la."

The lights shone brighter.

"La la la la la la la."

Orpheus relaxed in her arms.

"La la la la la la..." they sang.

Together.

In harmony and rhythm.

A red carnation manifested in both their hands.

Eurydice laughed, tucking her flower behind Orpheus' ear.

She takes his carnation and wraps its stem around her ring finger.

"Now, lover, how about that wedding you promised?"

Orpheus' laughter resounded throughout the bar, his grin as blinding as the rays of the sun.

And the world was back into tune.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one sitting bc yes 
> 
> Leave a comment and/or kudos if you want and thanks in advance if you do


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